The Life and Times of Barty Crouch Jr
by Prieda Solo
Summary: Unofficial attempt at the fifty word challenge of the 100quills community on LiveJournal but cleared with them first. Fifty words, fifty short stories. All about Barty. Some BartyxBella. Also stars Snape, Lucius and Regulus. EACH CHAPTER IS A ONESHOT.
1. Introduction

The Life and Times of Bartimus Crouch (Jr.)

Introduction (disclaimers, explanations, and the words)

And the madness begins. I was surfing round the internet (as you do) and came across a LiveJournal community called 100quills giving out 100 and 50 word challenges. I was interested in doing one, but have no livejournal, so contacted them to ask if I could nick one of there word lists and do it unofficially.

So this is UNOFFICIALLY written for the 100quills fifty word prompt. Do NOT use these words without contacting them first, especially if you have a livejournal, as that would be rather rude.

So, there are fifty words and I have to write a story for each of them. All stories will be about Barty Crouch, attempting to cover all of the main sections of his life; childhood, school, Death Eater, Imperio and Goblet of Fire.

Disclaimer The characters and situations in the following story collection do not belong to me, they are the property of J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. No money is made from this and no copyright infringement is intended. There will not be a disclaimer on every page, just one here.

Rating: This story is about Barty Crouch. Barty Crouch joins the Death Eaters, a group of people who go around murdering other people. Which means there will be dark moments. Also in my universe, Barty Crouch is having an affair with Bellatrix Lestrange, so there may be some slightly sexual themes (although not many because, meh, can't stand romance). I will put a warning before each story, so if you want to miss any out that's fine. They don't flow on from each other.

Reviews: I AM A REVIEW JUNKIE. Even just writing just one or two words 'good' 'bad' 'this is awful' can help me to see what works and what doesn't. I'm not asking for a thoughtful and understanding critical analysis essay (although if you want to, go for it :-)

Just two or three words. Makes my day. In return I will not put little review-begging letters at the end of each story. Just one big one here.

Words: So without further ado, here they are. Written mostly for my benefit, so I don't forget the numbers. Fifty words for fifty stories…

1-Patience

2-Butterfly

3-Unexpected

4-Colourful

5-Hatred

6-Surprise

7-Open

8-Unforgivable

9-Mist

10-Writing

11-Sorrow

12-Imparience

13-Faith

14-Abandon

15-Weary

16-Storm

17-War

18-Cover

19-Quitting

20-Talk

21-Near

22-Lost

23-Shade

24-Middles

25-Black

26-Gift

27-Smell

28-Lovers

29-Fall

30-Work

31-Confusion

32-Dust

33-Sky

34-Yours

35-Fool

36-Turn

37-Alone

38-Courage

39-Never

40-Mad

41-Royal

42-Breakable

43-Artificial

44-Virtue

45-Abyss

46-Escape

47-Silver

48-Pressure

49-Yesterday

50-Influence


	2. 002 Butterfly

WARNING slight animal cruelty

002-BUTTERFLY

Purity of blood had never really mattered to Barty Crouch. He'd joined the Death Eaters for Bellatrix Lestrange and he'd stayed because he enjoyed it. The thrill of the chase, the excitement of the hunt and the joy of killing. Screams in the night and the power over death, these were what lit up the face and the life of the young Barty Crouch.

A well organised raid happened at night or sometimes during the day if the house was sufficiently far away from the rest of civilisation. A few curses to break any defences, and then storm in, screaming hexes and throwing Unforgivables around like confetti. This was what Barty lived for. This and the secret nights when he and Bella met together, and in the darkness defied her husband and his family.

But even the best laid plans can occasionally go wrong. This was why he was now lying in the sun on a grassy bank with Lucius Malfoy and Regulus Black, just outside a little village somewhere listening to the hum of bees in the air, and the occasional call of a hedge-warbler.

Something hadn't worked out. Possibly the place was too strongly protected, or there were too many bystanders. Bellatrix had muttered something under her breath and gone forward with Rookwood, motioning at the three of them to stay where they were. He would have preferred to follow her, and outwardly tried to look angry at the delay but in truth he was quite happy just to relax for a few minutes.

He glanced over at his two companions. Both had removed their masks and cloaks, the weather was far too hot and they provided no camouflage at all at midday. Lucius Malfoy was staring at the sky, humming tunelessly under his breath, while Regulus was curled up under a large bush. He looked like he'd fallen asleep. Barty hid a sneer. It was hard sometimes, to remember that the youngest Black was in fact older than him. Everyone thought of Regulus as the boy, even though technically Barty was younger.

A butterfly flew down and landed on Malfoy's hand. He brushed it off lazily and smiled slightly when he saw Barty watching.

'They only live a day you know.' He drawled.

Barty raised his wand '_Avada Kedavra'_

The butterfly fell, its wings circling forlornly as it did so, to land next to Lucius, who raised an eyebrow, slightly reproachfully. 'That was unnecessary.'

Barty lay back, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. 'You said it was going to die.'

'Everything dies someday Crouch, that doesn't mean you have to kill it.'

Barty grinned. A light breeze drifted through the afternoon, rustling the grass stems around them. Regulus whimpered slightly in his sleep.

'We'll have to go soon.' Malfoy commented regretfully. Another butterfly flew overhead in the lethargic random manner of butterfly movement.

Barty yawned. The first girl he'd kissed had worn a butterfly in her hair. A large silver one with little emeralds on the wings. He remembered holding her in his arms and staring at it while she sobbed on his shoulder. He couldn't remember what she'd been crying about, a teacher who'd shouted at her or something. Bella never cried, not even during the Dark Lord's crucios.

They'd kissed that evening, a short wet meeting of the lips and he'd asked her if she'd like to come to Hogsmede with him. She'd tittered and giggled and then said 'alright' rather shyly. They'd gone to the Three Broomsticks; he'd bought her a drink and she'd spent the whole time staring across the room at Regulus Black, who'd been sitting in a corner nursing a mug of butterbeer (or more likely firewhisky, if his brothers drinking habits were anything to go by) and a black eye.

He'd never spoken to the girl again. Not out of malice or hatred but simply because she'd been a Ravenclaw in the year below him and they'd barely seen each other. He'd teased Regulus of course, because Regulus was the bottom of the food chain as far as bullying was concerned. The elder Slytherins tormented Potter's gang, who retaliated by taunting Snape, who took out his frustrations on Regulus. Barty never knew whether it was Snape or Sirius who'd been at Regulus that day; Sirius was more likely as Snape tended to go for curses.

Bored, he pulled out his wand, but the butterfly was long gone. Lucius was dozing now too, lulled by the heat and the soft sounds of high summer. Barty wondered what the Dark Lord would think if he could see them now, three of his highest ranking Death Eaters lying in the grass having a snooze.

The hedge-warbler sang again. Another butterfly flew by and Barty reached out and caught it in his hand. He looked at it for a while, admiring the beauty of the iridescent wings that flapped helplessly in the sunlight. He gently stroked the small antenna, and ran his finger along the body. Then slowly, methodically, he began to shred the wings.

Bellatrix reappeared a few minutes later. She shook Malfoy and kicked her cousin, hissing angrily at them for falling asleep as they surfaced into consciousness. They slipped down to the village to begin the raid. Barty carefully placed the butterfly back on the ground and smiled at it before pulling on his cloak and following the others, leaving it to flutter helplessly among the grass stems with its broken wings.


	3. 006 Suprise

WARNING: Rather short. 100 words exactly. I've been trying for ages to get a 100 word drabble :) Does it make any sense?

006-SURPRISE

"Are you sure this is it?"

"Yes. Wait, it's just…let go!"

"Give me the map."

Wormtail glared at him "The Dark Lord trusts me to find the house."

"He might. I don't." Barty grabbed the map and stared at it. "You useless rat, we're on the wrong side of the street."

They scuttled over the road, then through the narrow side gate and round to the back of the old house.

"Now, I'll go in and get Moody, you stay here."

_Crash_

"What was…"

_Clang-crash_

"We destroyed all the magical wards!"

"Then what the…"

_Crash_

"Barty, it's a dustbin!"

_CRASH_


	4. 016 Storm

WARNINGS: Rather short. Contains in-joke.

016-STORM

Above him the sky raged; thunder rumbled through the air, lightning snaked across the sky, and the rain poured down in torrents.

Next to him Regulus Black sighed, and turned over a page of the book he was reading.

Young Bartimus Crouch sat in the great Hall at Hogwarts and stared miserably at the letter in his hand. The formal words stared back at him, mockingly.

_Dear Barty,_

_We got your letter, and are pleased that you are settling down well in Slytherin. Your mother is very proud of you. Work hard._

_Father_

Tears blurred slightly in his eyes, and he dashed them away, angry at himself for showing weakness. There was nothing wrong with the letter, except he could almost feel the reproachful eyes of his father looking down at him.

It wasn't his fault, he hadn't wanted to be in Slytherin. Except he knew in his heart that a small excited part of him had, and that his father was disappointed at him. He should've shouted at the hat, or something, not just let it root around in his head.

Besides, what was wrong with Slytherin? Was it the ambition? His father was ambitious; he wanted to be the Minister for Magic. Barty decided that he was pleased to be in Slytherin, proud that he was in the famous house of so many pure-bloods.

_Your mother is very proud of you_

His mother hadn't even written to him.

He stared morosely at the enchanted ceiling. He'd only been at Hogwarts a week, but the ceiling was already beginning to annoy him, he found it hard to think over the noise of the storm.

The rain wasn't helping his mood either. He peered over Regulus's shoulder at the Transfiguration textbook. A picture in the centre of the page showed a young witch in scarlet robes holding her wand above a small confused looking bird. She tapped it twice with her wand and it transformed into a garden trowel. The witch bowed to an unseen audience.

"Black?" Regulus looked up, scowling, at the boy next to him, "Your brother was sorted into Gryffindor, wasn't he."

Regulus frowned, nodded and turned back to his book as the luckless bird completed another transformation, this time into a pair of shears.

Another child might have been upset at the cold reaction, but Barty was intrigued. Besides, he knew all about Regulus's family, the Blacks were one of those Slytherin pure-blood wizard families that his father was always getting called out to deal with. He wondered briefly whether that was why his father wasn't happy about his sorting; it would look bad to his colleges at the Ministry.

"What did your parents say?" He asked, feeling a sudden rush of kinship for Sirius Black.

"It's none of your business, Crouch." Regulus answered shortly, pulling out a piece of parchment. He turned his body away from Barty and wrote _Transfigurations of the Common Hedge-Warbler_ across the top of the parchment then sat chewing the end of his quill.

Barty looked at the older boys shoulders. He'd spent enough of his time waiting in the Ministry for his father to finish work to recognise tension when he saw it.

"Were they angry?"

Regulus's shoulder flinched. Barty felt a little shiver of power run through him. He leant closer, "Did they shout at him. Were you there."

"They sent a Howler." Regulus glared at him, "They told him he was a disgrace to the family and he is!" The last few words were shouted, and accompanied by the scrape of Regulus's chair as he grabbed his bags and left. Probably off to the library, one of the few places he was safe from his brothers tricks and Snapes proxy revenge.

Barty stared down at the letter. He wondered if his father had considered sending a Howler. He looked over to the Gryffindor table and gave Sirius Black an ironic salute when he wasn't looking.

Regulus had left his book behind. Barty picked it up and flipped through it before finding the page he'd been copying and carefully spilling pumpkin juice over it. The orange stain sank into the parchment pages, the witch in the picture gave a slight scream and ran out of the frame, taking the bird with her.

Barty left soon after. The thunder was beginning to give him a headache.

-----

A/N-yeah, this isn't very good. It's mainly for all those on the forum of the review lounge. Because in-jokes rule the world :p


	5. 025 Black

WARNINGS-adultery?

025-BLACK

He goes straight to her house as soon as he hears what the boy has done. He's unsure whether his role in this is to comfort her or restrain her but he goes anyway, because she'll want him there.

Part of him hopes she'll need him.

He arrives as soon as he can; the house elf lets him in. Bellatrix is pacing in the living room while Rudolphus lounges on the sofa with a glass of wine in his hand. When Barty enters she snaps at her husband to leave. He slinks out, glaring at Barty, who waits until he's gone before picking up the glass and downing it. Bellatrix smiles, but the smile is bitter. 'What are you doing here Barty?'

He shrugs, his fingers playing with the glass, admiring the pattern of light on its surface 'I heard about Regulus.'

She glares at him 'Why should I care about Regulus?'

He keeps silent. He knows Bellatrix well enough by now.

'Do you know why he did it?' He can't tell if it's a genuine question or not. He pours some more wine into the glass from the decanter on the shelf. It's good wine. He's glad it's him drinking it and not Rudolphus.

'No.'

'He's just like his fool of a brother.' Her dark eyes were flashing angrily. 'Andromeda was no better either. They get some stupid idea into their heads and they're stubborn as mules. Won't let anyone tell them they're wrong.'

And he thinks (but does not say, would never say): this is the pot, calling the kettle Black.

'Complete loose canons all of them. Sirius especially.'

He smiles at that, but nods at her, keeping his eyes neutral. He thinks: it's not just them Bella, it's you as well. The Black family are all the same, proud stubborn and determined as hell. Even Regulus, although he seemed like a wet blanket when he first got here. Blood will out, they say, and Regulus's came out last night.

And soon it will come out again, literally. He tries not to giggle.

Because he knows exactly why Regulus left. With the Dark Lord you can only follow blind for so long before you have to start asking questions, getting answers, and one of the main questions that everyone asks is how much is this worth? Once you realize you have to go all the way you've got to decide, you can decide to continue or decide to leave, and once you've made that decision there's no turning back.

Young Regulus passed the point of no return last night. It comes to everyone sooner or later. That sudden inner dread which comes with knowing that you've made your choice and you're stuck with it. Lucius Malfoy probably feels that every night, lying in bed next to his lovely wife and scared witless. Even he can't cover all his exits.

Bella's committed. As much as Regulus is, except they've both chosen different paths, both committed to different things.

'He's a Blood Traitor now, as much as Sirius. If poor Walburga were still alive she'd blast him off the tapestry.'

Bella's angry now. And he's taken her hand and led her to the sofa but inside he's thinking: Blood Traitor? He's never been truer to his Black Heritage before, never. Funny to think that this must have been inside little Regulus all along.

She's crying now, tears of rage and anger. Shouting, hissing at him. He offers her wine and she knocks the decanter over. He watches it smash.

And then she's standing again, the tears are gone. She's pulling on her gloves and calling her husband. 'We have to go out Barty. Narcissa's holding one of her 'do's' and we promised her we'd be there.'

'Family only.' Says Rudolphus, trying to threaten and sneer at the same time. Bellatrix rolls her eyes and smiles at Barty, who smiles back, sharing the joke. He makes to kiss her hand, but she kisses his cheek instead murmuring 'Tomorrow night darling, we're doing another raid and I'll put _him_ on sentry duty in the ministry.'

They leave together. Rudolphus tries to take her arm, but she brushes him off and waves goodbye. Barty waves back, nods politely at Rudolphus and heads back to his flat.

Loose canons she'd called them. That was a fair description of Regulus, and her, and Sirius from what he'd heard of him. They were all the same really, dangerous, deadly and stubborn. Give anyone from the Black family a Cause and they'd defend it to the death.

Even Narcissa had some of it. She'd certainly move heaven and earth to protect her husband, and no doubt any children she might have as well. He hadn't heard much of Andromeda, but the very fact that she'd turned away from her whole family (just for a muggle-born!) spoke volumes.

Tomorrow night. His imagination rode dreamy waves of darkness as he unlocked the door. Was it love they felt, or lust? Was there a difference? Did it matter? Bellatrix would organize everything, she always did, and heaven help anyone who tried to get in her way.

She may have taken her pathetic husbands name, but deep inside Bellatrix was still a Black!


	6. 026 Gift

WARNINGS-somewhat fluffy

026-GIFT

One of his earliest memories is of a Christmas, long ago, when he was five. He remembers the coloured streamers, and a large tree covered in big silver baubles. Carols playing on the radio, the smell of chocolate, turkey and mulled wine.

He's young and impatient, and he grabs at the bright shapes under the tree, tearing the wrapping apart. His mother is laughing and blushing as his father holds up the mistletoe and kisses her. He runs into the kitchen with his first gift of the day, still trailing its shiny paper like a tail.

'Look, look!'

His father picks him up and sits him on the kitchen table, still clutching the present in his little hands. His mother is talking in the voice some adults use to address children and his father frowns at that but doesn't say anything because it's Christmas.

'Oh isn't that _nice_ Barty! A toy broom all for you! What a lovely present.'

That afternoon they take it outside. His father holds onto it so he can fly safely. It skims a few centimetres above the snow and he remembers shrieking with laughter as the cold rushes past his face bringing with it the metallic taste of snow. His father says 'Stay in the garden Barty,' and he does (but still looks longingly over the fence, where the snow is shining invitingly on the rooftops of another world).

That evening they sit before the fire and he's drinking hot chocolate, still holding the broom tightly. His father kisses him on the forehead before nodding to his wife, grabbing his case and leaving, because he still has a job to do after all, and Christmas is a time when wizards tend to be most lax about security. Especially about being noticed by muggles. Crouch works in the Department of Muggle Relations but he's hoping for promotion and he can't get that by spending his time at home all day. Even at Christmas.

Barty hordes this memory like a gem. Keeping it safe during his time in Azkaban, never letting the Dementors see it.

It's one of the few memories he has of his father.


	7. 039 Never

WARNING-dark romance, some sexuality.

039-NEVER

'You've never been tempted to have children?'

'Never.'

'Not at all?'

Bellatrix turned to look at him. Her hair coiled gently round her shoulders and he noticed that a little curl had slipped into her cleavage. 'That's an interesting question to ask your married lover.'

He grinned, tearing his gaze away from the top of her dress. She was wearing red. She looked good in red. 'I just thought Rudolphus might want some. An heir, you know. To carry on the family.'

She turned away to stare at the cot. Narcissa was standing next to it, amid a gaggle of female relatives. Lucius had his hand on her shoulder and was looking proud. 'Rudolphus has nothing to do with it.'

Barty raised his hand to gently trace down the side of her dress, wondering not for the first time whether he was tolerated because she loved him or because she hated her husband. He wondered what she thought in the dark secret times they met together, whether her lust came from love or hate. Knowing Bella, it was probably a bit of both.

'Besides,' she continued, still staring at Narcissa, 'What would I do with a baby? How can I serve the Dark Lord with an infant hanging off my arm?' A small fat hand appeared briefly above the cot, waving lazily at the multitude of faces above it

'How about after the War, when we've won?' His hand stroked up slightly further, fingering the lace around the top of her dress. 'Plenty of time then.'

'After the war.' She sighed. After the fighting was over she would have nothing to live for. She'd go back to being a high class pure-blood wife, doomed to a life of producing children and keeping house. Back to being Rudolphus's wife. The War brought freedom for Bella, freedom and the power that she craved. Power over her husband, power over life, and the freedom to love her Barty rather than the man her relatives had married her off to.

She frowned and looked down at her front. Barty grinned and moved his hand, tucking it under her arm.

'What about us, the two of us. What will we do after it's over?' he said.

She sneered at him, 'Now you're sounded like a badly written romance novel.'

He shrugged 'I just wondered if you'd like me to kill Rudolphus for you.'

She bit her lower lip, shifting her gaze to where her husband was standing in a corner talking to Igor Karkaroff. She noticed he was glaring at her and smiled sweetly, moving slightly so that he could see Barty's hand over her arm. It _would_ be more convenient to have him out of the way, on the other hand there was her reputation to think of.

'We could get married then.' He whispered into her ear. She felt slightly uncomfortable at that. Why did he have to talk about marriage and permanency when the very thing she loved about him was his spontaneity, his freshness. She didn't want a husband, she didn't want a child, she wanted a lover, free and untamed. A lover like Barty; who could kill one moment and be laughing the next, whose caresses were soft and whose kisses were hard.

'Or you could stay as a widow and I could be your constant…companion. It would be so _chivalrous_ of me to aid a childless widow, to help a woman left alone in the world. I would have to visit you often.'

She liked the sound of that. 'I would have to wear black.'

'Good.' He reached up to nibble her ear, 'You look nice in black.'

'But no children. Never children.'

He smiled. That deliciously wicked smile that was only his. 'Could you imagine our children?'

That made her laugh. She could feel Rudolphus's angry glance and it made her feel deliciously powerful knowing that he was helpless. 'Barty, our children would be unbeatable.'

'Unstoppable.'

'They could conquer worlds.' Narcissa had noticed her and was beckoning from beside the cot, 'I suppose we better take a look at the brat.'

He removed his hand as they walked across the room. Leaning on the arm of another man's wife was just about acceptable, walking with her was not. Lucius gave him a cold stare as they approached, and a smile that looked far too thin to be real. Bellatrix was cooing over the baby, which he found surprising until he caught her glance and saw her roll her eyes.

He stared at the back of her head as her act continued, wishing he could reach out and stroke those dark musky curls. He knew she could never be his, despite their talks of murdering Rudolphus (and for a moment he let his mind imagine it, the sweetest Avada Kedavra in the world).

But no, that would never happen. Never in a million years. When the War finished both him and Bella would be forced to go back to the lives they hated. No more raids, no more masks, no more of those sweet and deadly midnight trysts.

And no children. They could never have children and because of that he would never have children.

Bellatrix left the cot and they walked slowly over to the drinks table. It was typical of the Malfoy's to hold a party for the birth of their son, after all (he hid a giggle behind his hand) they'd been trying long enough. Poor Lucius had been looking quite exhausted in the weeks before the happy news had been announced, and the birth had not been easy, Narcissa had been at St. Mungo's for several weeks afterwards, and it was rumoured that she wouldn't be able to have any more children.

Bella was looking distant, a sure sign her mind was on something. He noticed Rudolphus watching and gave him a quick predatory smile before lifting his head up to whisper into Bellatrix's ear 'We don't need children.'

She turned to frown at him 'Why not?'

'Because we're immortal.'

It was said so simply, and so truthfully that she laughed. And then laughed again because Rudolphus was looking angry and upset.

'But we are immortal Bella. Undefeatable, unbeatable. We'll conquer the world under the Dark Lord and you know it.'

She giggled and drew him into the shadow of a pillar, 'Unless he's defeated.'

He could feel her breath on his cheek. 'We'll never be defeated Bella, we're to strong.'

She was so close. Her lips were red and open 'Never?'

He reached up to kiss her 'Never.'


	8. 043 Artificial

WARNING: All dialogue (never tried this before so do tell me how it turned out). Romantic ending. (gakk)

043-ARTIFICIAL

'Mrs Bellatrix to see you Mistress'

'Bella!'

'Cissy!'

'How wonderful to see you again. _Do_ sit down.'

'Just passing through, thought I'd pop in. You must be very busy.'

'Oh yes. Draco is a _treasure_ but he's such hard work, really darling you have no _idea_'

'You do have a nurse though, surely.'

'Of course, but children are more work than you'd think, you know. I don't suppose you and Rudolphus have ever…'

'My husband and I are far too busy at the moment. Fighting for the Dark Lord.'

'It's just, you don't want to leave it too long Bella, you'll pass your peak.'

'We feel the Cause is far more important.'

'Oh. Well. _Naturally._ Dobby!'

'Yes Mistress?'

'Tea, Bella?'

'That would be wonderful.'

'Fetch some tea Dobby.'

'Yes Mistress.'

'You came to our little party for Draco the other day didn't you?'

'Of _course_. I must congratulate you, he looks very…healthy. I hear you found it difficult though.'

'Oh don't even talk about it darling. It was simply hideous. Still, that's the burden of a woman.'

'Of course.'

'You came to the party with Barty Crouch didn't you?'

'Mmmm.'

'Ah, thank you Dobby. Milk? Sugar?'

'No sugar, I'm watching my figure.'

'Take the sugar away, Dobby.'

'Yes Mistress.'

'Anyway Bella, about you and young Barty Crouch.'

'What about it.'

'Don't sound so shocked Bella. You were practically hanging off the boys arm all evening.'

'He is a loyal servant of the Dark Lord.'

'I don't see what _that_ has to do with anything.'

'I don't wish to sound rude Cissy, but it's hardly any of your business.'

'You are my _sister_. What will people say?'

'What will they say?'

'_You_ know. They'll say you're fast.'

'People always gossip.'

'Rudolphus saw. I was watching him all evening.'

'Oh _were_ you.'

'Not, only, because, _Bella_! I'm worried about you, that's all.'

'Cissy I am perfectly able to take care of myself.'

'All those raids and things you go on. Lucius says you're always with that boy.'

'The Dark Lord decides who is chosen for each mission.'

'But Lucius says you're so _close. _Surely if you _wanted_ to be with your husband.'

'I had no idea Lucius talked so freely about such things.'

'Well, he…just mentioned it.'

'Hmmm.'

'I am his wife!'

'Of course.'

'Uh. More tea?'

'Thank you.'

'The weather has been wonderful lately.'

'I'm sure it's not usually this warm at this time of year.'

'The new robes they have this season are just perfect. Now I have my figure back, I'm sure they'll look wonderful. We should go shopping together some time, don't you think?'

'Well, I am very busy nowadays. The Dark Lord does tend to look to me for a large number of _major_ decisions.'

'How is young Regulus?'

'Quite well.'

'Is he…managing all right?'

'Managing perfectly. You make far too much fuss about that boy.'

'He's only young Bella. I just wasn't certain…'

'I can only hope you are less overly protective of Draco when the time comes.'

'Oh. Yes. But there's a long time to go until then.'

'Sixteen years.'

'How old is Barty?'

'Sixteen years ago…what were we doing sixteen years ago?'

'You were at school. Barty was probably still in nappies.'

'Don't pout Cissy, it doesn't suit you.'

'Rudolphus is such a wonderful young man, Bella. I don't want you ruining all your chances.'

'It's a minor infatuation, nothing more. Don't tell me you've never looked at any other man than Lucius.'

'You've done more than _look_ at Barty Crouch!'

'You're getting hysterical.'

'It's true, isn't it?'

'What if it is?'

'Oh Bella! How can you say that?'

'You're far too old fashioned Cissy. Times are changing. The Dark Lord is going to bring a new world.'

'How…wonderful.'

'It _is_, isn't it?'

'Mmm.'

'Have you done something to the garden?'

'What? Oh, yes. Lucius decided it would be best to get rid of the Devil's Snare by the fountain. Now Draco's here. We wouldn't want him to crawl into it by accident.'

'Pity.'

'You think it looked better before?'

'Much better.'

'We might put a Flutterby bush there. There's definitely a gap now. What do you think?'

'I've never really been interested in gardening.'

'Your gardens are lovely though.'

'Rudolphus likes it.'

'It's always nice for men to have a hobby.'

'It gets him out of the house.'

'Yes.'

'Oh is that the time? It's been lovely seeing you Cissy but I _must_ go now. I've got such a lot going on at the moment.'

'Oh of course, thank you_ so_ much for coming. It was lovely to have you round. _Dobby_!'

'I'll call again some time.'

'That would be_ charming_.'

'Your coat, Mistress Bellatrix.'

'I do hope Draco continues well.'

'Oh yes. And, uh, Bella? You will think about what I said won't you? About Barty Crouch?'

'Goodbye Cissy.'

'Goodbye Bella.'

…

'That Bellatrix was around today.'

'Your sister?'

'_Yes_ Lucius. She does it just to annoy me I'm sure.'

'I thought you got on quite well with her. You're always chatting together.'

'Lucius Malfoy you don't know a _thing_ about women!'

…

'Lucius has been talking.'

'What?'

'I was chatting with Narcissa this morning.'

'Do we care about Lucius?'

'Mmm. Oh, Barty, do that again.'

'So we don't care about Lucius.'

'Not now, oh, Barty.'

'Why did you see Narcissa anyway? I thought you hated her.'

'I do.'

'Oh. Then why?'

'You don't understand women Barty Crouch.'

'I understand this one.'

'Oh Barty!'


	9. 042 Breakable

WARNING-none.

Written for a challenge. Details at the end so as not to spoil the story.

042-BREAKABLE  


She managed to keep calm for the rest of the evening as the meal ended and they moved into the ballroom. Serving the drinks with her head held high, blinking back tears beneath her mascara, making small talk, when all the while his hateful, terrible words ran around in her head, laughing at her.

She would _kill _Barty Crouch!

Except she knew she couldn't, and she knew she wouldn't.

"Are you alright Narcissa? You look awfully pale." She jumped slightly as one of Lucius's friends from the Ministry addressed her,

Lucius materialised behind her, placing a hand gently on her arm, "My wife is _pregnant_ Rookwood. She is naturally a little tired."

Narcissa turned to give her husband a grateful smile. "Yes, I am a little tired. I might…retire now."

He frowned at her and steered her into the shadows, "Do you have to leave now? It might cause comment." He looked into her eyes, trying to gauge her emotions "Is something wrong?"

She turned away, "No."

"Narcissa, has someone been upsetting you?"

"No." She lied, "I'm just feeling a little dizzy." She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling a selfish sense of satisfaction at the sudden look of fear and shock that shot through him.

"Oh, of course. You must rest if you feel at all…" He bit his lip, then smiled at her, "My beautiful little wife."

Only twenty years of will-power prevented her from screaming at him.

She even managed to retain her poise while walking up the stairs, smiling graciously at the guests, and at Lucius's badly-hidden concern. She didn't look at Barty Crouch.

It wasn't until she was back in her room that she broke. The door was shut with a slam that rattled the windows, her shoes were pulled off and thrown viciously at the wall. She retained just enough presence of mind to perform a silencing charm before opening her mouth and screaming at the top of her lungs.

She collapsed onto the bed, using her wand to untangle her elaborate hairdo. Her hair fell around her head, as images of Barty Crouch being tortured in many cruel and unusual ways drifted around inside her mind.

She would tell Lucius. And Lucius would _tear him to pieces_…

Would he?

Surely.

Or would he agree with what Barty had said?

Narcissa started to cry. Not the gentle delicate tears she used to subtly manipulate her husband and parents but loud unladylike sobs. She curled up into a ball on the bed, her makeup smearing the sheets, as years of anger and frustration poured out of her.

The worst part was that a small part of her agreed with Barty as well.

How dare he. How dare he come to her parties and say such horrible things and then have the effrontery to be _right_ about them.

She could see him now, the mop of straw-coloured hair that was never properly tamed, the wide-childlike eyes, and the mouth that seemed to smile cruelly, despite the fact that he had the most innocent looking face she'd ever seen. He was the sort of person who would torture or maim not for a reason, not for a cause, but through an innocent child-like desire to see what would happen to you when he did, and to laugh as it happened. Barty Crouch enjoyed pain.

She shuddered. Even the Dark Lord was preferable to that. Her tears subsided as she unconsciously placed her hand on her stomach, feeling the slight bulge beneath. Whatever child was growing inside her now, she hoped desperately that it would be nothing like Barty Crouch.

She couldn't properly remember what they'd been talking about. Marriage probably; someone's son was the right age, and she'd turned to Barty (who was after all sitting directly opposite her) and asked, in all politeness, whether he was thinking of getting married someday.

He'd given a short laugh and glanced quickly at Bellatrix, his eyes sparkling mischief. "I don't think I could stand marriage. Having to spend half your time protecting a useless woman."

"Are all woman useless then?" Bella had demanded archly.

He'd raised his glass to her, just slightly, "Not all, Bella." Bellatrix's wide red lips had smiled and Rudolphus Lestrange had scowled.

Narcissa had raised an eyebrow, "I think it is a woman's right to expect her husband to protect her." She'd looked rather pointedly as Rudolphus as she spoke, she would never understand why he didn't just grind young Crouch into the dust.

"Indeed." Barty murmured, looking down into his glass.

She'd felt Bella's foot brush past her leg, and looked slightly aghast at the implications of what was happening under the table. Turning to her sister she'd hissed, "At least my husband _cares_ about me. Enough to care about _competition."_

Bella's heavily lidded eyes had fixed on her, "Don't make an idiot of yourself Cissy."

"I am merely pointing out that if you were of more value to Rudolphus he might care more about loosing you."

"Value?" Bella gripped her fork angrily, and Narcissa smirked.

"Face it my dear, you were always the plain one of the family."

Bellatrix had gaped and blinked, as though her sister had physically struck her. Feeling smugly self-righteous, Narcissa had turned back to the general table conversation. "As my husband, I would trust Lucius to do _anything_ for me."

Lucius had smiled and nodded at her, looking a little embarrassed, before continuing whatever business discussion he'd been having. She'd turned back to Bella to catch the cold clear eyes of Barty Crouch staring straight at her.

He'd looked at her for a while, his face expressionless, before glancing at Lucius (who was looking in the opposite direction) then leaning forward to hiss at her "Narcissa Malfoy you are beautiful, but you are empty. No one would die for you."

It wasn't just the words themselves, but the tone in which he said them. He didn't sound angry, or threatening, just matter-of-fact, as if he were stating some obvious truth. As if it was a common fact; slightly unfortunate, but nevertheless true.

Her breath had caught in her throat. She'd spent the rest of the evening in a daze, as the anger slowly built up inside her, side by side with bewildered confusion.

She sat up, clenching her teeth together. She _wasn't_ empty. Her eyes caught the mirror over the dressing-table. A forlorn pale little face, makeup smeared all over it, stared back at her.

Automatically she lifted her hand to her hair. She looked _dreadful_, if Lucius were to come in now…

She moved over to the mirror, while a small part of her still sobbed on the bed. Her makeup was smeared, her eye-shadow was smudged, making it look as though she'd been punched in the face. Her mascara ran down her cheeks in smeared back tears.

"Just look at me." She murmured, pulling a facecloth from the drawer and slowly wiping the mess off her face.

She was beautiful, she knew that. Everyone had always told her so. But was she empty? Was she worth anything more than the face in the mirror, to Lucius, to anyone?

At the thought of Lucius the tears began to flow again. If it really came down to it, if he really had to, would Lucius die for her? If the Dark Lord threatened him, if he were forced to make a decision. Was it her he cared for, or just the child that was half him.

She raised her hands to her temples. Now she was starting to get a headache. Wiping away the last of the tears, she picked up one of the little jars on the dresser and began to brush the colour back over her face.

Anyway, better to be empty beautiful Narcissa Malfoy in a large house with a husband who loved her than plain Bellatrix Lestrange, spending all her time fighting or arguing with her husband.

There was a soft knock at the door, "Narcissa?"

She pencilled in her eyes, looked at herself quizzically in the mirror and ran her wand over her hair, "Come in, Lucius."

He stepped in gently, "Are you all right?"

She smiled at him, snaking over to the door and wrapping her arms around him, "Of course. It was just a little dizzy-spell."

"Is the, ah, child alright."

She pulled her arms away and sat back down at the dresser, "Yes. Everything's _fine_."

"Good." He sat on the bed staring at the back of her hair, "You know I hate it when my little wife is upset."

She couldn't help the sob then, and she couldn't help what tumbled out either. "Lucius, would you, would you die for me?"

"What!" He was stunned for a few minutes, while she sat in front of him, staring at his expression in the mirror. "Narcissa, you're…I don't know what you mean?"

"Answer me!"

"Well, it's not really a simple…."

"Answer!"

"Narcissa." He grabbed her hands, "Narcissa I would do anything for you."

She tried desperately not to look in his mind. She was nowhere near as good at Occlumency as her sister, but she couldn't help but catch the tail end of a flash of doubt that swept through his thoughts.

She moved away from him, "You better get back down."

"Yes." He left, pausing on the steps outside their room to give a nervous little gulp. Would he die for her? Lucius Malfoy honestly had no idea. In a straight choice he would obviously sacrifice himself for his wife and child but the Dark Lord had way of presenting choices…

He hurried downstairs, wondering just what had happened to upset her.

Back in the bedroom Narcissa stared at herself in the mirror. After a while she gave a sigh and collapsed onto the bed. Although she hated Barty Crouch, and was shocked at her sisters behaviour around him, she couldn't help but feel just a little bit jealous of Bellatrix. Having a secret lover did seem awfully romantic…

She giggled and then mentally shook herself. Honestly, this was no way for a married woman to think. Picking herself up, she sorted her hair out and pulled her shoes on. If she hurried, there might just be time to see the guests out.

Yet all the same, she couldn't help but take one last wistful look in the mirror before turning her head and gliding gracefully down the stairs

-----

Written for the Reviews Lounge Quote Challenge. The quote was 'You are beautiful, but you are empty. No one could die for you.' and is from St. Exupéry's 'Le Petit Prince'

It's been ages since I've written these characters. Which explains but does not excuse the fact that my hold on Lucius's character has completely gone down the pan.


	10. 008 Unforgivable

WARNINGS: This is a story called 'Unforgivable' and it is about Barty Crouch. It is safe enough to assume that this is Very Dark. Although there is no blood.

Also in order to allow people to review properly, I am leaving this as the last chapter, so all the numbers will be in weird places. I will sort them out at the end.

008-UNFORGIVABLE

It was mildly amusing, lounging back in a comfy chair in the Slytherin common room late in the evening, dreamily pulling the leg off a chocolate frog, and watching young Regulus Black have his head repeatedly smashed against the wall.

"Where did you put it!"

"I-I didn't touch your, aah! I never took your potions book!"

Barty scowled as an older boy approached the sofa, but swung his legs out of the way anyway. He was already beginning to learn the Byzantine system of unwritten rules and hidden infighting that seemed to run Hogwarts. He kept his eyes fixed on the battle though and drew his wand when the other boy turned to look at him.

The boy shrugged, looking mildly alarmed, "You're a weird kid, Crouch."

Barty considered this for a moment, then gave a wide smile, lifting his wand slightly higher.

The boy backed away nervously.

"Aaagh, I didn't, I didn't, why would I want your stupid potions book anyway."

Barty turned back to the fight (although it was hardly a fight, more a one-sided attack), curling his legs up beneath him. He had no idea why his fellow Slytherins kept away from him, why it was that he had no friends. He supposed it was something to do with his father.

It didn't make him feel upset, he never worried about being alone. Why would he, when there was still plenty going on?

Regulus was still at the argument stage, but he'd be snivelling soon. Barty hummed slightly under his breath, trying to think of something to pass the time.

He turned back to the boy next to him and pulled his wand out again.

"Get off the sofa."

The boy blinked, "You're a little uppity for a second year Crouch"

Barty gave a small high pitched giggle, the wand wavered in his hand. "All that means is that I'm not quite sure how the hexes work. So who knows _what_ I'll hit you with?"

The boy looked around. "I was leaving anyway." He mumbled, and then in a slightly louder voice, as a couple of sniggers filled the room, "You're a freak anyway Crouch."

Barty Crouch had no friends. He was careful to let things stay that way.

Regulus was starting to sob. Barty felt bored, Regulus broke very quickly. He thought briefly of his charms homework sitting upstairs on his desk and decided he could do it tomorrow.

"Don't act innocent Black, that brother of yours knows every curse in that book. If you didn't tell him, who did?"

This sounded interesting. Barty wondered if they would get annoyed if he took notes.

"I didn't, I didn't," Regulus's voice was a confused jumble of tears, words and hiccoughs.

Curses? Wasn't this whole thing about a Potions book?

"Half those spells are non-verbal Black. He's seen that book!"

Who wrote non-verbal spells in a potions book?

Barty looked around quickly. Now that his unwelcome neighbour had gone, there were only three other people left in the common room, and two of them were already packing up to leave. Barty sank down low in the sofa, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. He wondered just how much he would find out if Regulus broke.

But he didn't. To Barty's great surprise and annoyance he held out as Snape hit, cursed and spat. And at last gave up in defeat, and stormed off, leaving Regulus in a small heap on the floor. The other industrious late-night worker made a swift exit, glancing back with a slightly horrified look at Regulus as he did so.

And then the two of them were left alone.

"Regulus Black?" Barty called out in a slightly sing-song voice.

Regulus curled himself up tightly into a ball. Barty pulled out his wand and poked it into the sofa a few times, "Did you take it?"

"Take what?"

"That book Snivellus was going on about."

Regulus uncurled slightly, wiping the side of his cheek with his hand, "None of your business."

Idly, Barty pulled at a loose thread on the sofa, "Yes it is, I want to know."

"Nothing."

Barty looked at his wand, considering. He felt a little nervous about this, but he'd wanted to try it out for ages and here, in a deserted room with Regulus Black (no strong friends, noone he could talk to) for a guinea-pig, seemed as good a time as any.

"_Crucio!"_

Regulus, who'd just been standing up, gave a small scream and fell over. Barty observed him with interest.

"How much did that hurt."

Regulus stared at him with wide eyes. He gave a small gulp, "Not much."

Barty frowned. Regulus, seeing what was coming, made a deperate scramble to get out of the way.

"_Crucio!"_

No scream this time, although Regulus winced as the curse connected with the side of his leg. Barty narrowed his eyes, wondering what he was doing wrong. He tried to remember what his father had said about the curse.

What was it about it? It was Unforgivable, yes, but why? There were plenty of curses that hurt and maimed, what had it been about Crucio in particular?

He moved forward slowly, trying to remember his fathers words. They'd been sitting at the dinner table, and his mother had glanced at him nervously and said "Bartemius dear, not in front of the child."

"He'll have to find out sometime, he has a right to know." His father had replied, trying to look stern and judicial all at the same time. And he'd said eagerly, "I want to know." And then they'd both looked a little nervous.

Regulus's whimper brought him down to earth. The boy had backed into a corner, and was staring at him with wild, trapped eyes.

Barty bit down a rising feeling of disgust. This boy was _older _than him.

And bruised, said a small and slightly fairer part of his brain, and battered and tired and no one's going to be in their bravest state of mind after Severus has been at them.

Hate, that was it! The Unforgivable Curses were forbidden because they weren't just about waving a wand and saying a few words, you had to feel them, feel hate and anger surging through you.

In the dim light Barty's eyes glowed. Regulus cowered back, not to certain what to expect.

"_Crucio!"_

The effect was greater than he could have imagined. Regulus gave a shriek so loud he was surprised that the whole house wasn't woken. He moved his wand quickly, stopping the spell (after all, he didn't want anyone waking up) and Regulus was wittering something about stealing Severus's Potions textbook and trying to use the spells on his brother and then hiding it in the room of lost things.

Barty stared down at him. "What?"

"It's a room I found in the castle, I can't tell Snape he'll kill me, Sirius'll kill me, Barty, please don't do that again."

Oh it was so tempting. But there was the noise to think about. And he didn't want to be expelled, his father would go mental.

"I won't." Barty smiled at him, "As long as you don't tell anyone about this."

Regulus shook his head and gave a little whimper.

Barty watched him retreat up the stairs and fell backwards onto the sofa, suddenly exhasted. Well, that had been…interesting.

He still didn't see what was so 'unforgivable' about it though.

-----

This is not just gratuitous Reggie-bashing, it is an important point in the plot of HBP. Honest :p

As I said before, the review problem should be all sorted now…so…reviews:-)


	11. 010 Writing

WARNING: Songfic challenge. I seem to have managed to write a serious story based around the lyrics of Jabberwocky o0

And yeah, it's a bit metaphysical and pretentious in places. Too much biology revision can do that to a person ;)

010-WRITING

The book was old, but in good condition, as everything was in the Crouch household. The exception was young Barty, who, with the book clutched firmly in one hand, knocked on the door of his fathers study.

"Come in."

Slowely, he pushed the door open. "Are you busy father?"

It was almost funny, the little sincere voice coming out of the seven year old child.

A sigh from the big chair in front of the desk, "Is it important Bartemius?"

Barty's fingers tightened around the book, "I've finished my work father."

Torn between his unfinished paperwork and the demands of the young child, Mr Crouch sighed again. "What's your mother doing?"

"Making dinner."

He turned to look at his son, and frowned as he saw the book half hidden behind the doorframe. "What have you got there?"

Barty squirmed, "A book."

"Where did you get it from?"

"The attic." The little voice faltered slightly, uncertain whether it had crossed some unwritten law. "Noone was using it."

"Let's see?"

There was a slight pause before Barty held the book out. Mr Crouch frowned at the well-dressed animals on the cover, then opened it up at random.

"One, two! One, two! And through and through  
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" 

Barty sniggered.

Mr Crouch frowned, "It looks like a muggle poetry book."

"Will you read it for me?"

He turned back to the paper work, "You can read Bartemius, your mother did teach you."

There was silence from behind him.

"Yes Bartemius, I'm busy."

-----

_Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:_

The words made no sense, not even to Muggles, but to young Barty Crouch they seemed to say something, to form a world of his own. Curled up on a cushion in the attic he lay the book in front of him, open at the magical page, his mind racing through the possibilities.

With no meaning, the words could mean _anything_…

There was the rest of the book, which opened into another world, of talking cats and smoking caterpillars and shrinking things, changing things, a mutable world where nothing ever stayed the same.

It was magic even for wizards.

_  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe._

But the poem, the poem was special. The rest of the book was the world of the writer, surrounded with illustrations of dodo's and mice and a girl with a bow in her hair. But there were no illustrations for the poem, it was his world, filled with words that changed their meaning depending on his mood.

"Mome raths outgrabe.g" It sounded like a spell.

On good days the raths resembled butterflies, small gauzy things that fluttered around him with many-hued wings. On bad days they were gigantic many-legged monsters with teeth and claws that snarled and ripped at all the things that made him angry.

He tried to draw them, with crayons. His father had seen once, frowned and asked him what on earth he was doing, there were plenty of magical creatures around why didn't he draw one of them?

"This is different father, this can change."

He could never make them understand, that the amazing thing about his world was that it was not static, the writing-without-meaning changed; different things, different creatures. Nothing stayed the same, the words and the actions changed every time he read it.

_"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!_

But there was a real story in there, a small silver thread amidst the confusion of coloured tanged strings that made up the rest of the poem. It was a story about a son doing something for his father…

He often wondered what the Jabberwock was, and why it had to be killed. The monster's death was somewhat of an anticlimax in the end. It hardly fought back, not even with the fearsome claws that were mentioned.

But that did not really surprise Barty. It was fighting against a man after all, a man with more than claws, a man who could think.

But for such a glorious monster to loose, and against a muggle!

_Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
The frumious Bandersnatch!"  
_  
By the time he left for Hogwarts, the attic was full of little pieces of paper, some with crayon scribbles, some with scraps of writing, stories of his made-up world, pictures of the changing creatures and in the heart of the glorious confusion sat Barty, who understood how it could all fit together.

The Jubjub bird was one of his favourites, and changed the most often. From green (for camouflage) to orange (for warnings) now with seven claws, now with two, there was even a discarded drawing where he'd removed the wings and for a while the large, purple, ground based bird, with terrifying claws on its legs and a beak made of diamond had run through the marble halls of his imagination.

On the day he'd first left for Hogwarts, he'd tidied them all away. Each piece of paper had been folded neatly and stacked in the large oak cupboard with the burn on the side that had been in the attic for as long as he could remember. Last of all he'd reverentially placed the book on top, the jewel in the crown, the crown he'd filled with jewels.

He had no need to take it with him, the poem was locked firmly in his memory.

_He took his vorpal sword in hand:  
Long time the manxome foe he sought --_

Platform nine and three-quarters had been packed, people running, shouting, last minutes tearful goodbyes and hurried instructions. His mother had been crying (mothers always did) while his father had looked slightly anxious, he was already late for work.

Barty had clutched his luggage tightly, trying to be brave, trying not to cry. He'd shared his compartment with a group of fifth year Ravenclaw boys who'd spend the entire time talking enthusiastically about girls and Quidditch.

The vorpal sword was another thing that had gone through multiple-interpretations. By the time he was eleven Barty had decided that it was something you kept with you at all times, a sword in the mind, to keep manxome thoughts away. Only in the world of the Jabberwock could it be real, could it be seen.

It made him laugh, when he looked back on it at an older age. The metaphysical thoughts of an eleven year old.

_So rested he by the Tumtum tree,  
And stood awhile in thought.  
_  
He'd spent that first journey on the Hogwarts express curled up in the corner, his mind far away. He'd watched the view from his window flash by, fields of trees and grass, houses and roads, only lasting for a second. It had made him feel sleepy, and he'd drifted off, the worlds of the poem and the train weaving together in his mind, the Hogwarts express suddenly careering past a landscape of changing colours and beautiful animals, a thousand forms most beautiful.

"Hello? Kid? We're here?"

"Wha-" Barty blinked in the light and the Ravenclaw boys filed off the train. He followed them desperately.

"What are those things pulling the carriages?"

The boy he'd asked looked at him oddly, "What?"

"The skeleton horse things?"

The boy backed away slightly, "There's nothing there…"

_And, as in uffish thought he stood,  
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,  
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,  
And burbled as it came!  
_  
He'd felt every eye was watching him as he climbed the steps towards the Sorting Hat, his own personal Jabberwock. It was an ordeal, a trial by fire, and as the Professor placed it on his head he tried to think worthy thoughts, to think of his fathers expectations.

The hat saw the sword in his head. It saw the world he had made, the fractured lines of the broken mirror, the edges of mind, the beast within.

"Where to put you…"

Barty hadn't replied. A part of him had thought 'Gryffindor is where my father wants me.'

But another part, and older part, a part that had spent the time thinking about the Ministry and the things his father did at work, had thought: 'We belong in Slytherin'

Was it ambition the hat saw? Was it the pure-blood? Or was there something else in the brilliant fractured mind that passed through the shades of memory of the Four Founders and resonated with something in Salazar Slytherin.

_One, two! One, two! And through and through  
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!_

"SLYTHERIN!"

_He left it dead, and with its head  
He went galumphing back._

It had been hard, facing his father that Christmas. He hadn't been there to collect him, only his mother had turned up at the freezing-cold platform, as he'd stepped off the train on his own. Her smile had seemed brittle, and she'd asked with forced cheerfulness about how he'd found the term, what he'd been up to, did he have many friends?

He preferred his fathers questions, they were about work. He was good at work. His teachers were pleased with him.

And finally, the inevitable question.

"So, Slytherin eh?"

"Yes father."

"It's an…honourable house."

"They all are father."

"Well, yes, naturally…"

He'd gone back up to the attic as soon as possible pulled open the draw and let the childish papers spill out. The drawings and writings he'd burnt, but the book he'd kept, opening to the page with the poem and reading again about the boy who'd succeeded where he'd failed.

_"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?  
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"  
He chortled in his joy.  
_  
He'd spent the Easter holiday at Hogwarts. He told his father that he had work to do. Mr Crouch's return owl expressed regret at not seeing his son, but hoped Barty would use the time wisely, and advance his studies.

The next summer he burnt the book, watching the world of the Jabberwock fly up the chimney in a spiral of smoke and ash. His mother had seen, appearing in the last few minutes to give him the worried smile of mothers who aren't sure what their sons are doing, or whether it's normal.

"Isn't that your book Barty?"

He hadn't even bothered to answer. In the wizarding world fire is a transient thing, and death is a liquid state. Ghosts walked, Phoenix's rose, and Barty's mutable changeable world would always remain with him.

The writing kept it chained.

In his head it was free.

_Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe._


	12. 029 Fall

WARNING: This is the inside of Barty's mind, so possibly a little disturbing. (no blood or onscreen death though)

029-FALL

It was Bella's idea, that he should meet the Dark Lord. He hadn't been keen at first (the last thing he wanted to do was get involved in politics, if his father ever found out…) but it had seemed to mean so much to her.

He'd thought: why not? How bad could it be? At the worst he'd spend an hour or two listening to the misguided politics of some gibbering idiot. At best he'd find out what Bella actually did in the evenings she couldn't meet him. After all, it wasn't as if he disagreed with any of the general _principles_, it was just the danger associated with getting involved he worried about.

So he went to meet the Dark Lord.

And everything changed.

He stared into those glowing red eyes, the eyes that stared into his soul, and realized that this was far more than some mad pureblood with dreams of grandeur. This was for real; this was about power, and the future, and things he couldn't even begin to understand.

The twin red points of light bored into his soul, ripping through the layers of sullen teenage willfulness, of awkward obedience to authority, to find the dancing star beneath. Inside his mind, the Dark Lord threw up visions of darkness and screaming, of death in the night, of pain and torment, of even his own father…

Barty's eyes sparkled. Deep inside him, something glowed.

There was something within him that those visions answered. Maybe it was the brilliant fractures in his mind, a childhood of adult neglect, or maybe just the end result of careful pureblood inbreeding. Whatever it was, the dark sick images released a hunger, a sort of need.

The Dark Lord spoke, "Are you willing to join us?"

Was _he_ willing? How could he not be when this man, this god, had seen inside him, plumbed the depths of his soul, and, most importantly of all, had approved of it. Barty had never sought approval before, and until this moment had never realised just how much he craved it.

It was the atmosphere, he told Bella later, the smoke, the darkness, the guttering candles. Because he didn't want to admit, even to himself, that when he'd thrown himself to his knees and cried "Yes Master" in an embarrassingly passionate voice, that he'd actually meant it. Besides, how could he explain to her that at that moment he'd loved those glowing red eyes more than her, that he would have done anything, _anything_, the cold voice had commanded?

What he did say to Bella was, "He understands. He really understands what it's like…to be me."

"Of course he does." The cherry-red lips smirked, "I did _tell_ you, you silly boy."

His initiation came later, in a night of pain and flame and a burning black mark. Bella said that the initiation was the most important part, but to Barty it hardly mattered, it was merely an afterthought.

Barty Crouch had fallen long ago.


	13. 041 Royal

WARNINGS: The last sentence. Should be shot.

QUICK NOTE: Reggys character is undergoing a small makeover since DH, so might look a bit wierd. Also, I've just realised that Crouch is only two academic years younger than Regulus (not three as previously thought).

041-ROYAL

"Who's the Half-Blood Prince?"

Regulus looked up from the house of cards he was attempting to construct, his face looking terribly guilty, "What?"

Barty turned over a page of his Charms book. He loved moments like this; Regulus might be older than him, but Barty knew he had complete control over the situation. Regulus was just so…easy to read. Young, dutiful, conscientious and filled with enthusiasm for whatever that pureblood group of his cousins was called.

"The Half-Blood Prince, you heard me Black." Barty turned over another page. He'd chosen his moment well; it was a bright sunny day near the end of the year, everyone as either outside enjoying the weather or revising in the library. The Slytherin common room was deserted.

"Snape made me promise not to tell." Regulus began uncertainly. The hand with the card in it shook slightly. Barty grinned. He'd overheard Regulus asking Snape about it during a Quidditch match but, frustratingly, they had moved out of earshot before he'd heard the answer.

"I shouldn't really say anything." Regulus looked awkward and then alarmed as, slowly and deliberately, Barty pulled out his wand and laid it along the side of the desk.

"You can tell me Black. I've got no one to pass it on too."

Regulus stared at the wand. He was thinking of the Cruciatus Curse. Barty was getting _good _at that one.

"It's just a nickname." He mumbled, "It was scribbled inside that Potions book I nicked."

"I can't hear you Black." It always amazed Barty just how much power a few words and an unspoken threat had. Part of him was disappointed that Regulus had given in so soon.

"It's a child-nickname." Regulus repeated, a little louder, "A name his mum used to call him when he was little."

"Half-Blood_ Prince_?"

"Yeah, I know." Regulus's voice grew excited, "Do you think he's related to royalty? I mean he might be the secret son of an unknown king, or, or something."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up Black. He's a slimy little grease-ball, born on a slag-heap."

"He's not that bad." Regulus said automatically. Barty was beginning to sound a bit too much like Sirius.

"He has got a bit better since Malfoy taught him how to use a knife and fork." Lazily, Barty turned over another page, wondering why he bothered to put up with Regulus. It was just nice sometimes, to have some one to feel superior about.

"He's a Death Eater now." Regulus's face lit up as they approached his favourite topic of conversation.

"How fascinating." Barty was supremely uninterested in the Death Eaters. As far as he could tell, they were simply another Pure-blood supremacist group. Maybe with more power than most, and distinctly better organised, but still no more than (according to his father) a bit of a nuisance.

"Cousin Bella says I can be one when I'm old enough." Regulus continued, wistfully.

Barty pulled a notebook towards him and under the words _SeekerSnitch (not Quaffle)_ he wrote _Severus Snape: Death Eater._

"They go on raids, and have adventures and allsorts." Regulus continued, lost in his own private heaven, "And I'll get a tattoo, even Sirius doesn't have a tattoo."

Barty made a vaguely positive noise, not really listening. In the margin of his notebook, he began to doodle a snake, thinking about what he'd just written.

"He has Muggle T-shirts with this guys face on them, and he sings weird Muggle songs about Galileo and Scaramouch but he doesn't have a tattoo."

It didn't really seem enough. _Severus Snape: The Death Eater_. Not much for a final eulogy. He tried to remember the Snape he'd known at school; bitter, studious, bullied, snarling, lonely.

_Severus Snape: The Death Eater with No Friends_?

Except…he did have friends. There was Lucius, who'd taken up the young friendless oddball, and made him presentable. And he even had friends in his own year; Mulciber, Avery, they just always seemed to be mysteriously absent whenever Potter's gang appeared.

_Severus Snape: The Death Eater Who Used to be at Hogwarts._

But they all had been, once. Even the Dark Lord had been at Hogwarts. The thought made Barty smile.

_Severus Snape: The Death Eater With a Silly Nickname?_

"He's made up his own songs as well. And Andromeda went and bought him a guitar, and he spent the whole holiday locked in his room singing 'Imagine There's No Purebloods."

"Shut up Regulus." Said Barty absentmindedly, drawing a scull around his scribbled snake to form a little Dark Mark. Hurt, Regulus turned back to his house of cards, squealing a moment later when the entire construction exploded in his face.

Something of Regulus's conversation had filtered into Barty's brain. With a slight grin, he scribbled down a sentence then slapped the notebook shut, the pages closing over ink that was still slightly damp.

_Severus Snape: The Death Eater Formerly Known As Prince_

----

----

This is probably stupidly anachronistic.


	14. 004 Colourful

WARNINGS: This fic is published elsewhere, in the Reviews Lounge as a chapter for the Rainbow Project. However as I'm a lazy cheapskate (and as I genuinely like this piece) I'm posting it here as well.

004-COLOURFUL

(In His Father's Attic)

There are colours in the dust…

Even when he looks back on it, the attic seems to him to be a place of safety and security. A place of mist and swirling clouds, of soft autumn colours, the brown wooden boards, the small window in the roof. Its safe here, although he knows he's trapped, trapped in his mind under the Imperio curse and trapped in his body in the room.

The sun streams down through the window, making a patch of the wooden floor suddenly golden. He closes his eyes and sees red and blue afterglow. The dust swirls slightly where his hand scuffs the boards.

It's a drowsy world, a swirling, swimming world, a world that lives in the time between sleeping and waking, the space inside a mirror.

Sometimes he thinks he can hear birdsong. Sometimes the sound of a dripping tap. Sometimes he can hear laughter from far away, or the hum of an aeroplane passing overhead.

But that might mean nothing, because he also hears Bellatrix's laugh and Lucius's drawl in the times when he's sleeping (or is he awake? Is the attic the place he goes when he's asleep?). He hears his father's voice, his mother sobbing, and all of the sounds float dreamily in his head, unconnected to the world above, the world around.

It's almost like living underwater, in a blue-green silence of a perfect globe. Stretched and distorted, the time flows lazily by, like treacle poured from a spoon.

The house-elf brings him some food. He doesn't always see it come in, but when he next looks there's a plate of leftovers and a cup of water, standing in the golden glow of the sunlight.

Clumsily, shakily he reaches out an arm to take it. It's like working through thick rubber gloves, in a world only vaguely connected to this one. He keeps waiting for himself to wake up.

And then there's another part of him suddenly. In the soft marshmallow heaven the curse creates there's a sharp bitter tang. The remains of his consciousness, fighting desperately, struggling to get out.

He shakes his head, not sure whether he's trying to get rid of the fluff or the painful attempts at freedom.

His arm gives a violent shudder, and the cup falls, the water arcs through the air and suddenly there's a soft hazy note of colour as, briefly, the light shines through the falling arc.

Then it's gone, and he's back in the cloudy haze, back in the dull attic room. The sun goes behind a cloud. He hears the drone of a lawnmower mingled with Regulus's excited chatter.

But somehow, he can still see the rainbow.


	15. 038 Courage

WARNING: The views and opinions reflected in this represent the thoughts of the characters and should not be taken as a reflection of the authors opinion.

038-COURAGE

"You were in Gryffindor, weren't you?" Barty asks, idly adding lacewings to the Polyjuice Potion.

Peter Pettigrew scowls, "That was a long time ago."

"I wonder why." Barty stirs the potion. Almost ready, give it another two weeks. "I'm fairly sure all the rest of the Death Eaters are from Slytherin."

Peter shrugs moodily. They're sitting in the basement of the Riddle house, and he knows that in an hour it'll be time to go up and see Him again; the Dark Lord. The thought terrifies him. "I suppose I'm just not very ambitious."

"You're certainly not a team player." Barty flashes a grin, lightning fast, then stares at the fire. "Or intelligent." He adds as an afterthought.

Barty's changed, Peter realises. Changed from the wild and bright young thing he used to be. Although, after thirteen years, he supposes they've probably all changed.

"I'm hardly _brave_ though." He says bitterly.

"You don't know what bravery is." Barty murmurs, still staring at the fire.

Peter gapes at him stupidly. "Bravery is…is, well, being brave is not crying when you're hurt. Doing the Right thing instead of the easy one. Standing up to people, standing up to Evil."

"That's what Gryffindor's think."

"Well what is it then." Peter demands, fed up of people always knowing more than him.

"Bravery." Barty gives the fire a quick private smile, as if the two of them are enjoying a joke at Peter's expense. "Bravery has nothing to do with Good or Evil, right or wrong. All it is is the ability to overcome your fear. To do something, even if the very idea of it, the whole _thought _of it, scares you so much you can barely move."

Barty looks up at him and deep in his eyes, behind the years of age and Imperio, Peter can see a glimmer of the crazy young boy he once was.

"Think about that, Pettigrew. Do you still think you're not worth Gryffindor?"

Peter thinks of the last few months, facing the Dark Lord every day. The last year, of Lupin and Black and that damn cat. He thinks back fourteen years, back to when he led the horrifying, terrifying life of a Death Eater, the nights of fear and blood and darkness.

Black and Lupin had never had to face that.

"I think I've earned it."

"Really?" Barty looks back at the potion and adds a few more lacewings.

"As much as any of _them_."

There's a pettiness in his voice that makes Barty grin. "Courage is relative Pettigrew. Just like everything else."


End file.
